Page 50 of Bloodwitch
“A birthday procession,” the Empress had explained wearily the day before. “Very long, very tiresome. Yet I must do it every year.” This was why Safi had been given the Adder uniform and shroud: it was one thing to claim one had a Truthwitch, and quite another to parade her before hundreds of thousands of people.
The City of Eternal Flame grew on the horizon, framed by the red Kendura Hills and whitecapped Sirmayans beyond. The golden spires that spanned across the city, one for each district, shone like torches beneath the ember glow of sunset.
A crow swooped overhead, and Safi prayed it didn’t shit on her head.
“Are you ready to turn twenty-seven?” Safi asked, joining Vaness at the bulwark. “I have heard it’s much better than twenty-six.”
Vaness offered a sideways sigh—a sure sign she was un-empressed. Though she did at least say, “When I made this same trip a year ago, Safi, there were no armies at my doorstep. And though General Fashayit might blame me for starting the war, he is wrong. The end of the Truce was inevitable. War always is. Besides,” she added lightly, “by being the first to break the Truce, I can choose the terms of what comes next.”
Despite her tone, Safi knew Vaness was anythingbutlight and flippant. Even without her magic, ferocious truth resounded off everything Vaness did. Her ideals aligned with her actions; she demanded nothing from others she would not do herself; and she put the well-being of Marstok above everything else, even her own life.
“Well,” Safi murmured eventually, “happy early birthday.” And this time, she earned a smile.True, true, true.
When at last the ship reached the main wharf of Azmir, it did not berth, but rather coasted to a stop beside an isolated dock, where waiting sailors laid out a gangplank.
Rokesh led the way, guiding them into a long, open tent mounted upon iron struts and poles. Gold canvas and green banners flapped against the breeze, while soldiers in matching gold and green stood at attention in neat rows around it. A perfect rectangle to enclose the tent.
As soon as Vaness reached the heart of the tent, she swung up her arms. The iron lifted. Then the iron—and the tent attached—followed overhead as she glided down the dock.
Safi’s fingers curled tightly into her uniform while the entire procession walked. Her calves ached to run, her knees itched to kick high. This was her first time outside the Floating Palace since reaching Azmir. This was her first glimpse of its people, its streets, its buildings old and new. Vaness had failed to mention what route they might travel through the city, and Safi hardly cared.
They could walk into a pit of vipers, and it would be perfectly acceptable. She wasout,and that was all that mattered.
They passed ships, where sailors hollered and waved from the highest masts and more people whooped and whistled from belowdecks. Then the procession reached the main lakeside quay, where the roar of the crowds magnified to almost deafening.Health and joy to you!some screamed. Or the more common Marstoki greeting,May all be forgiven in the fire!Yet for every cry of devotion that swelled from the crowds, Safi heard just as many cries of rage.
She had no idea how Vaness endured it, and the longer they marched, the more it fascinated Safi. While Vaness’s beauty, her strength, her heroism at Kendura Pass might have earned her fanatic adoration, she was still the leader of an empire. Everything she did was on display, andeveryonehad an opinion on how she should behave. Her unwillingness to marry, to smile, to bend—Vaness herself had told Safi what sort of rumors that fed.
The Iron Bitch, they called her.
That name riffled over the crowds now, flinging into the tent from all angles, echoing in a way that only truth could. Yet the people who uttered their disapproval felt it just as fervently as those who screamed their worship.
“The people have come from across the empire,” Rokesh informed, slinking into step beside Safi. “To see tonight’s fireworks and celebrate. Every inn within the city will be full, and every inn within twenty miles beyond.”
So many people here to see her,Safi thought,yet none who trulyknow her.It must be very lonely indeed to be loved and hated, yet never seen.
The procession left the wharves and entered a main avenue of beige towers with red-tile roofs. The Merchant District, Safi learned. Beyond, shops and tents and street vendors crowded beneath white awnings. Then they crossed an intersection where one of the golden spires thrust up from the earth. No doors, no windows, only the square column racing toward the sky and capped by a flame-shaped cupola.
Safi wished she could get closer. Whatever this was made of, it was not the same material as the rest of the city—not sandstone nor marble nor limestone nor granite.
Then they passed the tower and entered a new district where each building was painted a hundred different shades. “The Artist District,” Rokesh explained, before they veered east into the University District, then into the Healer District. On and on, they switched back and forth through the city, covering every area. Passing every golden spire. Until at last, the buildings and towers were replaced by a long sandstone wall. Beyond, cedar branches rustled on the breeze, and a final spire reached up, up, up. The tallest spire of them all, dark against a dusky sky.
At an iron gate, the soldiers slowed to a stop, parting enough for Vaness, Safi, and the Adders to continue through. Without a single waver in the tent or in her stride, Vaness pointed a finger at the approaching entrance, and the black bars swung wide.
The tent briefly constricted inward as they squeezed through, like a cat wrinkling into a doorway. The scent of cedar hit Safi’s nose, the city din quieted behind, and finally, iron bars crashed shut, closing them in.
With each step they moved through the cedars, the air seeming to tighten and coil. It pulled Safi’s heart into her throat, and she did not have to ask where they were. The answer called to her, and the spire gave it away.
They were at the Origin Well of Marstok.
Yet something about the forest grated against Safi’s magic as they walked on. It plucked at the hairs on her arms, and twice she thoughtshe saw figures hiding in the trees. On the third instance, she said, “Someone is in the forest.”
But Rokesh merely nodded. “They are soldiers. This area might be private, but we still take no risks with Her Majesty’s safety.”
Safi supposed that explained it, yet despite Rokesh’s words, the fingers tripping down her spine did not go away.
After a hundred paces through the cedars and up a steep stairwell, the forest finally opened to reveal a long spring framed by sandstone tiles. Evenly spaced around the rippling waters were six massive cedars, bent and reaching for the sky. And set back from the Well, in the forest on the northern side, was the golden spire.
Vaness stopped before the water and eased down the tent. She carefully bent the poles and struts inward so the canvas creased like an inchworm, exposing them all to a purple sky.
